


Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, part ii

by Tassos



Series: Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow [2]
Category: Farscape, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-13
Updated: 2006-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tassos/pseuds/Tassos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Crichton falls through the rabbit hole. Lost, he's about to be found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, part ii

**Author's Note:**

> Farscape through Dog With Two Bones, Atlantis through Season 3

“Yet do I fear thy nature;  
It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.”  
Macbeth, 1.5

### Ruin

“So the linguists took three weeks to translate the damn thing. Three weeks. Now I know languages are complicated but Edwards could have just given us the gist of the thing in a day, but no, it’s always, “McKay, I’m busy. You’ll get it when you get it.” Rodney dropped his voice to imitate Dr. Edwards’s baritone.

John smiled from the cockpit and relaxed into flight. The planet they skimmed over was lush and green with forests on the verge of summer. The sky was bright blue and cloudless, perfect for flying as the jumper hummed through the atmosphere on the way to the town about thirty miles from the gate. They were friends of friends, recommended to Atlantis by one of their other trading partners who knew they were always looking for ruins of the Ancestors.

“So? What’d it end up being?” asked Ronon, impatiently from the back. They’d been listening to Rodney go on about finding the largest Ancient manual that they had since they’d arrived. Apparently it had been a feat of programming and decryption unparalleled since the finding of the last largest prime number.

“It must have been important,” said Teyla.

“Their entire structure of Ancient government.” Rodney’s voice was laced with contempt.

John smirked from the pilot’s seat. “That sounds pretty important.”

He could feel Rodney’s eye roll. “Yes, it’s important, but hardly interesting or worth the effort of five of my best programmers. I could have given the project to Finnes who’s useless.”

“Then you would still not know what the document contained,” said Teyla.

“I know. Lose-lose situation all around.”

“Relax, Rodney. Soon you’ll be exploring fresh ruins and finding all sort of new toys to play with.” John adjusted course as the human life signs grew stronger.

“I better.”

On the horizon the forest fell away into a quiltwork of fields. John started to decelerate and soon the town came into view at a sedate pace. It was quaint, as most Pegasus towns were, and their arrival was expected. A greeting party had assembled by the time John landed the jumper just outside of the town limits. He gave Rodney a warning look as they waited for the ramp to descend and pasted a smile on his own face before descending the ramp.

* * *

“Ace.”

_Nine._

“Dace.”

_That’s not a word._

“It’s a fish. It’s a word.”

_Then it’s a proper noun and against the rules._

“It’s the common name and you used trout from torture. It counts.”

_You’re cheating. There should be a rule against native fauna. And why must we use your language all the time?_

“Because it’s my head and sebacean clicks drive me crazy.”

* * *

The ruins were twenty miles outside of town. John got them as close as he could in the jumper but they had to hike the remaining nine miles through the forest. Luckily the terrain was pretty easy, despite Rodney’s loud complaints, and they made good time.

The forest had overgrown the building, but beneath the creepers the Ancient aesthetic still pushed forth. It was stepped with the second floor set back from the edifice, but not a pyramid. It probably descended underground, and John just hoped that there weren’t any nasty surprises.

“Finally!” Rodney huffed as he joined John and Teyla in front of the door, with Ronon coming up behind. John spared him a glance, thankful that their arrival had given them a break from the whining. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Velcro ripped apart as Rodney pulled off his tablet and got to work.

Not wanting to get drafted until the site was secure, John turned hooked his head at Ronon and told Teyla they were going to take a look around. The building was small for all its height and equally covered in vines and saplings on the other three sides as on the front. There were boulders piled up against the left wall, probably from a landside from the hill that was off in that direction, and a few scratches here and there that promised an active night life, but nothing overly worrisome. When he and Ronon returned to the main door, Rodney had just gotten it open and was tentatively smelling the air.

“Seems okay,” he said fishing out the artificial canary. John shone his flashlight into the dark interior. It was dusty, but with a crystalline reflection underneath in familiar hues. A minute later when Rodney pronounced it was safe for entry, John took point, thinking on at the building but getting no response.

“Power’s gone.”

“Yes, thank you for clarifying,” replied Rodney tersely, already absorbed in his readings. John followed his directions to the main chamber that was pretty much the only place they could go anyway, and was mildly impressed in spite of himself. A rather large tank took up most of the room, stretching up to fill the second floor they’d seen from outside. In the light of their flashlights, they couldn’t see far up in the dark, but John would bet that the ceiling opened up as well.

“That’s big,” commented Ronon who also stared up in appreciation.

Teyla nodded in agreement. “What was it used for?”

“That’s what we are here to find out,” said Rodney from the corner where he had already hooked up his tablet to the Ancient console. “Colonel, I need you to come turn this on.”

“I thought the power was gone,” said Ronon.

“Which is why it’s hooked up to my computer and I have twenty minutes to figure out if we need to bring a generator.”

“Oh. Twenty minutes?”

“Don’t sound so pained. I’m sure you’ll survive.”

John smirked at the huffy look Ronon gave him before going to look around. Twenty minutes really wasn’t bad for a recon mission, and they’d undoubtedly be back with more scientists and marines the next day with the generator. The planet was peaceful enough, but John didn’t finish the thought out of fear of jinxing them.

By the time twenty minutes rolled around and Rodney’s mutterings had become more agitated, John was explaining marbles to Ronon and Teyla. It turned out the Athosians had a similar child’s game while Ronon thought it was the most ridiculous game he’d heard of since Parcheesi.

“All done?” he asked when Rodney joined them by the big tank.

“Not even close. But I don’t have the tools to get into the casing and I’d much prefer to have light and Radek.”

“Any idea what it is?”

“I was downloading files, not reading them,” said Rodney. “I think it has something to do with monitoring the planet but there were too many words me and the translator didn’t know. I swear, Edwards better fix the bugs in the program or I’m cutting his department.”

“Would that not cause more problems?” asked Teyla as she checked her weapon. Everyone ready to go, John led them back into the hallway, letting Rodney’s lecture on interdepartmental politics settle into background noise. He heard it enough at lunch to know the ins and outs of how Rodney managed his scientists and wasn’t particularly interested in hearing it for the fiftieth time.

The door came into view as they rounded the corner, lit up from outside with a leaf hanging over the top.

“Hey, I thought this door was locked.”

John stopped, squinted, and brought up his P-90 when he realized that the leaf was talking and was actually a head.

“Oh, crap,” said the head and disappeared.

John felt his team come to a stop behind him. Rodney pointed, looked back and forth between the door and them, and said, “What was that?”

“We’re going to find out,” said John grimly, not liking this surprise one bit. “Come on.”

‘That’ turned out to be a man sitting on the roof above the door to the ruins. He appeared unarmed and otherwise scruffy. He had the beginnings of a beard, brown hair hacked off at his collar, and a layer of dirt on his face thick enough to incite any mother to soap. His coat was a couple shades darker than Ronon’s, and his pants and boots were black, all leather and patched.

“Look, don’t shoot,” the man held up his hands in the face of the three weapons on him. “I’m not going to hurt you. And I think you got odds and projectile weapons on your side.”

The man had a point, and after a second John lowered his weapon a bit, Ronon and Teyla following his lead. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Who are you and how did you get that door open?” the man retorted. “It was locked solid when I tried it.”

John frowned. He looked harmless enough, but his clothes and speech didn’t match those of the villagers. “How long have you been here?”

The man shrugged and twisted so his feet dangled over the edge. “Couple days.”

“On the roof?” asked Ronon.

“Well, I’m not sitting on air. Name’s Crichton, by the way.”

“John Sheppard,” said John. He nodded at the others. “Teyla Emmagen, Rodney McKay, and Ronon Dex.”

Crichton nodded back. “Find anything good in there?”

“Why, you looking for something?” demanded Rodney suspiciously.

“Do you always answer a question with a question?”

“What if I do?”

“Are you hiding something?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Rodney,” John said to shut him up. “Look,” he turned back to Crichton. “We were just taking a look around. We’re explorers.”

“I was just curious,” the man shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of these things and none of them are ever open unless a wall’s come down.”

“There’s more here?” Rodney perked up.

“Why, are you looking for something?” Crichton threw back immediately. Fortunately, Teyla butted in before Rodney lost his top.

“Please. I believe we have strayed from our course. We wish merely to proceed on our way. We did not mean to startle you, but we thought we were alone here.”

“Yeah, heard you come up. I was going for word twenty-seven in headcase.” Crichton looked thoughtful for a moment, then annoyed. “No, twenty-seven. ’Dace’ is a word.”

“I think ‘headcase’ is apt,” muttered Rodney.

John agreed but didn’t say that out loud. The guy was most likely an outcast and it would be no surprise if it was because of mental health or lack thereof. Still. “Where are these other ruins? We were told these were the only ones here.”

“They are, don’t worry, you’re not missing anything. I just see them around other places I’ve been.”

“Other planets?” asked Ronon. John looked at him sharply, but Ronon was focused on their new friend.

Crichton shrugged. “I travel. Hey, you got anything to trade?”

“Perhaps,” said Teyla. “Although we have already made arrangements in the village.”

“Not from here. I was thinking more like ink, paper, food, painkillers.”

John lifted his eyebrows at the list. “We’ll see what we can do when we come back.”

“Don’t bother. I won’t be here tomorrow,” Crichton waved a dismissive hand. “You might not want to come back for a few days either, just in case.”

“In case of what?” squawked Rodney.

“Wraith.”

John looked at Ronon again, but before he could ask Ronon did. “You a Runner?”

Crichton stilled. His eyes flickered to John and back to Ronon. “You gonna shoot me if I say yes?”

“I was a Runner.”

Rodney spluttered. “You mean there’s Wraith on their way here right now? That’s great. That’s just great.”

“Hey chill,” said Crichton without taking his eyes from Ronon. “If I’m gone tomorrow, the likelihood of them showing up here is twenty to one.”

Rodney rolled his eyes and John had to agree because this was them, and luck was never on their side this early in the game.

“We can help you,” said Teyla.

“These people took the tracker out of my back,” said Ronon. “They’re good people.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” said John carefully. Knowing he was a Runner, things made a little more sense, and knowing also made him want to help.

Crichton turned his attention to John, unreadable. “You got a doctor?”

“Yes, a good one.”

The silence stretched out until Rodney couldn’t take it anymore. “Why you’re not jumping for joy over this I have no idea, but we really do have a doctor and we really will take the tracker out, no strings attached, because I am not about to wait for Wraith to show up before I’ve had a chance to figure out what the hell the Ancients were doing here. So chop chop. You’re wasting my time.”

Crichton remained silent, this time staring at Rodney until the scientist shifted uncomfortably. “There’s daggers in men’s smiles,” he finally said. “’ll have to think about it. If I’m still here by the time you get back with your doctor, we’ll see.”

“Okay,” said John, hearing the challenge hidden underneath his words. Crichton nodded and pulled himself back from the roof until he was out of sight, like a turtle pulling into his shell. It was a good defensible position, he thought as he turned to his team.

“I’m staying,” said Ronon before John could issue orders.

“Ronon, we’re coming back.”

“I’m not letting him leave.” It was written in the intensity of his eyes that Ronon wasn’t going to let Crichton give up his chance at freedom.

John let out a breath. It wasn’t a possibility he wanted to happen either. “Okay. Teyla you stay with Ronon. McKay and I’ll go get Beckett. You two better be in one piece when I get back.” He didn’t seriously think that Crichton could take on both Ronon and Teyla and win, but he was a Runner that didn’t trust them and was therefore dangerous.

“We will be fine,” said Teyla calmly with a smile.

“All right.” With a final reassuring look at each of them, and an uncertain one to the roof, John turned with Rodney back down the trail to the jumper.

* * *

“I don’t remember what it’s like not to run.”

_You don’t always run from the Wraith._

“Because they always catch up.”

_You confronted Scorpius._

“Because he always caught up too.”

_You stayed for Aeryn._

“She ran.”

_A pause. Will you say no?_

“No.” John covered his face with his hand. “I’m tired of running.”

* * *

Ronon circled the building and climbed the boulders to the roof once Sheppard and McKay were gone. It was a little tricky in places but didn’t take long and less time than that to find Crichton lying on his back near where he’d sat on the edge. His head rolled to look at Ronon but he made no other movement. Up close, Ronon could see the shadows and old bruises under the dirt. He looked much the way Ronon had felt when he was a Runner, not a threat but a tired man. Without ceremony, he sat down facing him two feet away, one knee propped comfortably, and tossed his power bar on Crichton’s chest.

The man looked at it a second before picking it up and tearing off the wrapper. He took a bite silently and pillowed his head on his other arm. His coat was stained with grime and there were patches on his shirt and pants. Near his head was a satchel with the handle of a Wraith stunner poking out within easy reach. Two knives were tucked into his belt. Ronon doubted he was in danger, but it could be a hell of a fight.

“How long have you been running?”

Crichton’s eyes flickered over to him away from the sky. Blue eyes like McKay’s but twice as wary. “More than a standard cycle. Year. Forever.”

“It will stop.”

Crichton closed his eyes and Ronon understood that too. Comprehending that this was the end was impossible.

When Crichton finally stirred it could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour. “You got anymore food?”

Ronon fished out the second bar.

* * *

Processed food. Chocolate. Peanut butter. Hint of cardboard. Camping trips and shuttle flights. The crinkle of a wrapper. Words that didn’t look familiar but yet felt so painfully right.

Humans on a thousand worlds. Rectangles where flags could be. The top spun, spilling entrances and exits and dazzling hints like loose strands of thread streaming behind.

John didn’t try to chase it. He thought instead about peanut butter and chocolate.

* * *

Carson was putting his equipment in order when Sheppard came into the back compartment of the jumper to tell him that Ronon, Teyla, and the Runner were emerging from the trees. He joined the Colonel to watch the trio approach. Teyla was in the lead with the two men in behind, and while this was certainly less terrifying than the first time he’d operated on Ronon, this new Runner didn’t look any less dangerous for all the dirt and scruff.

“Teyla, Ronon, Crichton,” Sheppard greeted them.

“Colonel,” Teyla returned. Crichton nodded but his eyes were roaming over the jumper before settling on Carson who smiled reassuringly. He tried not to let it unnerve him when Crichton didn’t smile back.

“You the doctor?” he asked bluntly.

“Dr. Carson Beckett.” Carson held out his hand. Crichton stared at it a moment before clasping it in a firm handshake, rough with callus. “We’ll be performing the operation in here,” he gestured to the back of the jumper. “It’s not ideal, but I’m afraid we can’t take you anywhere with the tracker still in.”

Crichton peered inside then turned back to Carson. “How long you been a doctor?”

“Fifteen years. I’ve done this operation before. You have nothing to worry about.”

“You know what a spinal cord is?”

“Yes,” Carson smiled as reassuringly as he could, “and I won’t damage it.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t clear.” Crichton leaned forward slightly, his hand drifting to his belt and the wicked looking knives they held. “I’m not letting you cut into me until you tell me what it is.”

Carson blinked and looked from Sheppard to Ronon to Teyla and finally back to the Runner before him. “You’re giving me a test?” He couldn’t quite believe it.

“The last person I talked to about cutting this thing out didn’t know a fever from evil spirits.”

Carson couldn’t help the wince and echo of every derogatory comment Rodney made about medicine. It was a reasonable request to ensure that your surgeon knew what he was doing before he opened you up, but it still stung. “Very well.” Carson went into detail about the spinal cord and the results of damage to it and then patiently answered Crichton’s concerns about infection. The man watched him the whole time, eyes like a predator’s waiting for one misstep before going in for the kill. Carson, thankfully, passed the test.

“Cool.” Crichton clapped his hands together. “What kind of painkillers do you have?” He didn’t even wait for an answer; he simply walked into the jumper. “See?” he said to himself. Carson looked back at the Colonel and was partially reassured by the eyebrow that was fast approaching his hairline.

Carson shook off the oddness of the whole situation and chalked it up with all the other bizarreness that was life in Pegasus. In the professional zone once more, he told Crichton to take off his shirt and lay on the bench. The man was gaunter than Ronon had been, with ribs showing through the hard muscle on his chest. Scratches and scars peppered his body, more than a few recent and one or two filled with pus. “Looks like you have a few infections already,” he commented as he did a cursory exam.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Crichton looked down at himself and poked the largest of his sores. “I tried to keep ‘em clean but, something in the water must have got in them.”

Deeper bruising and cuts littered his back in patterns the size of sticks and feet. Carson didn’t ask what caused them. The fact that he was a Runner was answer enough. Instead he grit his teeth and decided that he would be talking Sheppard into taking the Runner home with them until he’d healed up properly. However, that would have to wait until the tracker came out. “Now, here’s what I’m going to give you,” Carson held up the syringe of local anesthetic as he launched into an explanation of the procedure and got to work.

* * *

The absence of pain was a miraculous thing. As were drugs that weren’t an accident. Alcohol was still on the list of bad-ideas-that-should-not-be-revisited, but drugs? Drugs led to Disneyland.

John sat back with Harvey, relaxed, and enjoyed the hookah.

* * *

 

 

### Mason

Elizabeth waited for John’s team in the jumper bay with the medical team and Marines. She wasn’t happy about the turn of events, Teyla and Ronon not withstanding, but Carson had been adamant that the Runner needed more medical treatment than a band-aid after his impromptu surgery. Teyla’s report just added confusion to what should have been a straightforward investigation of Ancient ruins, confusion that Elizabeth frankly was not in the mood to deal with. She had authorized their return only because it was the right thing to do, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

When the jumper landed, Elizabeth stayed out of the way until Carson passed with a nod and his patient on the gurney. There were too many people for her to get a good look at him beyond a pale back and brown hair, but Elizabeth knew that would soon change and waited instead for John and his team, minus Rodney, to emerge.

“Tell me he’s not a threat,” she said by way of greeting as the three of them joined her. Ronon was watching the gurney roll away, but both John and Teyla regarded her solemnly.

“Well, he’s been running for over a year,” said John letting the rest go unsaid. “Beckett’s got him sedated and we’ll keep him in quarantine until we’re sure he’s not carrying anything else dangerous.”

“And all this about alternate realities?” asked Elizabeth with a glance at Teyla as John frowned and did that thing where he clearly hadn’t thought much beyond getting back to Atlantis.

“I figured we could talk to Rodney about that.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes. “Rodney, who is as we speak gearing up with Lorne and a dozen scientists to go back to the planet?”

“Elizabeth, at the moment Crichton is out cold. He’s not a problem. I talked to Beckett; he’s got him under control until we can make sure he’s not a threat. He didn’t even pull a weapon on us at all.”

“He had a Wraith stunner,” said Ronon. “And he wasn’t expecting this to happen.”

“Teyla?” Elizabeth asked when she could no longer hold Ronon’s gaze.

“When I spoke with him, he seemed genuine. He, too, is wary of us. I believe we should treat him as a guest once he has passed quarantine since we did bring him here without consulting him.”

Elizabeth could think of a dozen ways this could go wrong, but her natural inclination to trust in people told her she was being paranoid. If this Runner was a threat, they would take care of it. No sense borrowing trouble out of fear. “Very well. We’ll take this one step at a time.” She looked hard at John who nodded. The three of them went off to the infirmary for their own check ups, leaving Elizabeth to her thoughts.

The control room was quiet when she returned to her office to stare at her screensaver and think about a Runner that claimed to come from another reality.

* * *

Waking in unfamiliar places was not unusual. Waking without the sound of trees or the smell of dirt was. Waking on a mattress was enough to make John not care.

Soft. Warm. A trickle of thought and a light whisper of the day’s events fluttered just under the sensation of no aches or muscle cramps from sleeping on rocks and roots. The bed was almost too soft for comfort, but luxurious and beyond memory. Four soldiers and a doctor rolled around in his head, banging against the top, knocking strands loose again. The haze of drugs in his system was distracting so John told Harvey to buzz off and went back to his affair with the bed.

* * *

The first conversation John had with Crichton after their return wasn’t much of a conversation. He’d stopped by after Carson informed him that the Runner had woken up and gone in only to have Crichton look at him and say, “I’m having a moment with my bed. Go away,” before rolling over and promptly falling asleep again.

The second conversation went a bit better with John actually getting a word in before Crichton started asking about where he was. “That doctor of yours said he wanted to patch me up proper, and really, I don’t have anywhere else to be, but I was just wondering where the hell I am because, I haven’t seen anything like this except on rooftops.”

John swung around the chair beside Crichton’s bed and straddled it. “Well, that’s because you’re in the original. Welcome to Atlantis.”

Crichton’s face stilled. “Atlantis,” he said with a hint of disbelief. “As in ‘lost continent of’?”

“More like ‘city’,” John frowned. “And that brings us to what you told Teyla. Just where exactly are you from?”

“Oh, that’s a loaded question.” Crichton gave him a slight smile. “But I don’t think it’s anywhere near here.”

“You mentioned alternate realities?” John prompted, because he really wanted to know what was up with that. The whole time travel, alternate timeline-universe thing was weird enough when it was people he knew, but from someone else – from someone else from Pegasus? Yeah. “How’s that work?”

“You think I know?” Crichton laughed harshly. “Harv, did you hear that? Man, I am the universe’s whipping boy. I just know that humans are not supposed to be out here. Settled, having babies, sticking pitchforks in your face, running from Wraith. And certainly not the U.S. Military checking out alien ruins.”

Okay. That was interesting. “So you’re from Earth.”

“Florida.”

“How did you get to Pegasus?”

“Pegasus?” asked Crichton warily.

John blinked, then told him. “We’re in the Pegasus galaxy.”

“The Pegasus galaxy,” Crichton repeated, definitely shocked. He threw his head back on the pillow and groaned. “Un-fucking-believable. Sixty light-years my ass. Yeah, shut up.”

John couldn’t help but sympathize; he did understand where the guy was coming from. “Look, you’re not our prisoner here,” he said. “I realize you’ve had a shitty year, but we’ll help you out as much as we can. Get you set up somewhere you can settle in. For our own peace of mind, we’d like to know how you got here and if you really are from an alternate universe. This is all very classified so it’s possible we’re all in the same world, so to speak.”

Eyes closed and with a hand covering his face, Crichton said, “I was an IASA astronaut. Accidentally got myself shot through a wormhole.”

“IASA?” That only rang bells in rhyme. “International Aeronautic and Space Agency?” he hazarded a guess. When Crichton nodded, John sighed. “It’s still NASA where I’m from. I guess this calls for a welcome wagon after all.”

Crichton didn’t reply or even move, so John left him to his thoughts.

* * *

Frell.

Frell. Frell. Frell. Frell. Frell. Frell.

Frell.

_Tell me, how is this worse than our previous situation?_

I know about it.

* * *

“It’s a terraforming station.” Rodney beamed at everyone in the conference room. “We were right about when the Ancient’s seeded the galaxy they made it human friendly. It’s an amazing piece of work and we’ve only scratched the surface. I’ve got people combing the database for references as we speak. We’re also going to need a few more days on the planet to catalogue everything and bring what we need back for further research.”

Elizabeth smiled at his enthusiasm. “Make sure you get permission from the locals and follow proper protocol.”

“Yes, yes, don’t worry,” Rodney waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll make sure they don’t run after us with spears.”

“Good. You have a go,” she said quickly before he could start waxing poetic. “Carson?” She turned to the next item of business. “How’s our guest?”

“Physically, he’s recovering nicely,” said the doctor. “He’s been sleeping off surgery which is no surprise given that his body has been pushed to extremes in the last year. His other wounds are responding to antibiotics and will clear up in a few weeks.”

“But?” prompted John in the pause that followed.

“But,” Carson sighed in agreement, “I gave him the full body scan that’s part of our quarantine procedures and found something interesting.”

“Exuding chemicals-interesting or third nipple-interesting?” asked Rodney, lifting his head from his ever-present data tablet.

“Abnormal brain activity-interesting,” said Carson heavily, turning his gaze to Elizabeth. “The normal human uses very distinct sections of the brain for different activities. There’s a range of course due to natural variation from one person to another, but within parameters. Crichton was all over the map. I did another scan while he was sleeping and it came up as if he were awake.”

Elizabeth frowned at the unsettling news. “Do you know what it means?”

“He’s not sending out . . .vibes, is he?” asked John.

“No, Colonel,” Carson smiled. “There’s nothing abnormal coming out of his head. I don’t think it poses a direct threat.”

“But indirectly?” asked Elizabeth.

Carson shrugged. “I’m not exactly read up on neurological disorders. I asked Dr. Heightmeyer to take a look at the scans but she couldn’t tell me anything except that it wasn’t anything she recognized. He behaves normally – or as normally as anyone coming out of a self imposed exile does. I couldn’t find anything else that could be potentially harmful. If he was one of our people, I’d release him today but keep him monitored.”

“Could his condition be because he came from an alternate reality?” asked Teyla.

“It’s possible,” said Rodney after a pause for wondering. “Neurological changes are not unheard of, although since we know next to nothing about how he got here, it’s anyone’s guess. He’s clearly not had a problem with entropic cascade failure.” At Teyla’s frown, he explained, “problems with having two of a person in the same reality. Namely death.”

“All right,” Elizabeth took a deep breath willing her headache to go away. “Release him for now. But I want a guard on him at all times.”

John nodded and Ronon said, “I’ll do it,” which reassured Elizabeth more than knowing it would be just the Marines keeping their guest out of trouble.

* * *

He had never felt princelier than at this moment sitting on the porcelain throne. Granted, it wasn’t porcelain but it was a toilet and that’s all he really cared about. No leaves to worry about giving him rashes, no sticks to fall on, no stones upsetting his balance. The luxury of taking a dump in a clean, indoor room was almost orgasmic.

* * *

Crichton noticed him as soon as he stopped in the doorway, though he didn’t turn his head. It was clear in the slight tensing of his shoulder and the shift of his feet as he sorted through his belongings. Clean and dressed in the red hospital scrubs, he looked like a different man, less somehow and out of his element. Ronon wasn’t sure if it was the news of where he was or the loss of his coat, or maybe his knives, he amended as the former Runner fingered his empty sheath.

“Sheppard said I wasn’t a prisoner,” he said without turning.

“You’re not.” Ronon straightened from his slouch against the wall. “But too many guests have turned into enemies.”

Crichton smiled, still fingering his sheath, head bowed. “I hear that.” He finally looked up. “So now what?”

“Beckett tell you you were released from the infirmary?”

“With caveats and an instruction manual.”

“Well, I’m your escort.” Crichton’s wounds weren’t obvious but his ribs were visible; Ronon remembered well living from day to day on what you could scrape together, and knew a couple weeks of eating regularly would take the edge off.

“What? No guard?”

Ronon didn’t bother answering what his bulk clearly implied. “Get dressed,” he said instead. “All your clothes were washed. We can get you knew ones if you want.”

Crichton brushed a finger over his leather pants, neatly folded by his satchel. “Nah, I’m good with these.”

And Ronon understood that too. It had taken months of subtle digs from Teyla before he’d been able to let go of a few things. When all you had were the clothes on your back, they were like a shield, a friend to keep out the cold. Running, alone, you needed all the friends you could get.

“I’ll show you where you’re staying.” He stepped outside to wait, and a few minutes later, Crichton emerged dressed and with his pack and his coat over his arm.

“So who built this place?” he asked looking around as they started off. There were a couple Marines a discreet distance back which Crichton saw, but chose not to comment on. “It’s some pretty colorful architecture. Very pointy. Very Picasso.” He looked at the high ceiling of the intersection. “Very funny,” he added dryly.

Ronon raised an eyebrow at that. “The Ancestors built it. Who your people call the Ancients.”

“Ancients?” Crichton stopped, his attention focused on Ronon. “What’d they look like?”

Frowning at the odd question, Ronon shrugged. “Like us. From what I gather, we descended from them. Or something.” At Crichton’s frown he added, “You should probably ask Dr. Weir.”

“And who’s that?”

Ronon smiled lightly and resumed walking. “The lady in charge.”

It didn’t take long for them to get to the guest quarters, and Crichton did not remain silent for any of that time. He mostly spoke of things he saw – cool waterfall, how many people there were, what the tiles reminded him of – asked a few questions, like how the doors worked, and answered others himself without stopping for breath. He told Ronon how he would decorate and said that no, fuchsia was not an option. Ronon wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer or not. It was chatter like McKay’s chatter to fill the silence and provide comfort. That Ronon was there to hear it was immaterial.

Ronon leaned against the door jamb while Crichton inspected his room. His hands touched everything, he bounced on the bed, and he spent a full ten minutes with all the water running in the bathroom, silent. Ronon smiled. It was like watching himself again when he first came to Atlantis.

They headed to the gym next, though Ronon didn’t tell him that, just pointed out things like quarters and rec rooms and labs on the way. Crichton got distracted by the television and again ran his hands over everything, muttering the whole time. With a promise that they’d come back later, Ronon finally got him out of there and to the gym.

“What’s this?” Crichton asked when they entered the empty room. It was the smaller one Teyla and Sheppard used to spar away from the Marines. Ronon liked to come here too sometimes, just to get away from people.

“I thought I’d see how good you were in a fight.”

“You brought me here to beat me up?”

“Sheppard would have dragged you to beat up Marines.” Ronon slid his outer shirt off leaving only his sleeveless one. He swung his arms to loosen them up a little. Crichton watched him for a moment before shaking his head and laughing.

“You’re kidding, right? This is some sort of joke?”

Ronon shrugged back. “I wanna see how you do.”

“This is hazing. I’m back in college.” Crichton threw up his hands in a gesture of disbelief. “Sorry, not playing.”

Ronon decided to wait him out, and when Crichton stared back, said. “Humor me.”

“By getting the snot beat out of me? Been there, done that, got the bruises to prove it. Last time a guy your size came after me I hid in the ductwork for three days.”

“Thought you might want to move around some after being stuck in bed.” Ronon shrugged like it was no big deal.

Crichton shook his head but was smiling. “Oh, that bed. Like a little piece of heaven.” Ronon smiled at that and wasn’t surprised when Crichton added amicably, “Not moving suits me just fine.”

“Fair enough.” They caught gazes, held, and Ronon saw more than a reflection of himself. “Lunch?”

“Now that we can get behind.”

As Ronon led the way to the mess, Crichton started talking again, but this time he asked questions about Ronon – how long he’d been a Runner, how he’d fought the Wraith, hunted, avoided people. Questions no one else on Atlantis really asked for fear of upsetting him. Strangely, when Crichton asked, all the anger and hatred for the Wraith settled into a low hum because Crichton knew them and didn’t have to be told. It was there in the half finished sentences and every time their eyes met. Instead comparing notes and stories felt surprisingly . . . normal – and turned exclusively to food when they arrived at the mess.

Crichton tried everything and commented on everything. He was familiar with many of the Earth foods, unsurprisingly according to Sheppard, but there were others he likened to things Ronon hadn’t heard of before. After the tasting, they just ate, Crichton quieting and Ronon alternately watching him and glaring at the gawkers.

“Told you,” Crichton sighed happily around a mouthful at one point. “Quit it.”

“What?”

The other man looked up and poked at his beet greens. “This reminds me of my mother’s garden. She used to grow all sorts of things and we’d eat home grown all summer.”

“Back on Earth?”

Crichton took another bite. “When I was a kid.”

“Must have been a shock ending up here.” Ronon glanced at a nearby table of scientists, half of whom were new. He couldn’t imagine them surviving as a Runner for over a year.

“Story of my life,” snorted Crichton humorlessly. “At least the aliens here only want to eat me.”

Ronon looked up sharply, uncertain he’d heard correctly. “You mean the Wraith?” he asked, startled at how Crichton, a Runner, could just say that. “They caught you and hunted you like an animal.” Hunted him like an animal. “How is that ‘only’?”

Crichton twirled his fork, suddenly closed and distant. “I’m not saying they don’t suck. Or that I’m not angry at what they did. Just they’re not the first aliens I’ve seen, and certainly not the worst.” He looked away. “Yes, him.”

“Who?”

“Look, the Wraith culled your world, right?”

Ronon stared at him. Reducing what the Wraith did to Sateda to a culling was like saying the ocean outside was just a pond. Anger burned behind his eyes, no longer comfortable. “They _destroyed_ my world. Whole cities. Thousands upon thousands of people. They bombarded us for a week until every thing that could have been rebuilt was pulverized and every person that could rebuild it was dead.”

“They ruined your life,” Crichton half whispered, not flinching away from Ronon’s fury. “Mine was already ruined.” Shadows lurked in Crichton’s eyes and he looked down again quickly, digging his fork back into his potatoes. “I don’t have the energy to hate everyone who screws me over.”

If Crichton was bothered by Ronon staring, trying to figure him out, he gave no sign of it.

* * *

Box potatoes never tasted so good. And fresh vegetables! Beets, carrots, some funky looking root that tasted like ginger and grapefruit. There was a meat that was probably better left unidentified but not half bad. And gravy! And spices! John couldn’t remember the last time food tasted this good.

Wondered what he tasted like.

_Chicken._

Wondered why the Wraith couldn’t eat him.

_Because you’re running around with your head cut off._

Wondered if they couldn’t eat Ronon either.

_Ronon probably eats them._

* * *

It was 2200 by the time Rodney and Radek finally got to the good stuff. One wouldn’t know it from taking a stroll through the labs since they were as busy as they were during the day, if not more so as those with daytime duties they couldn’t ignore joined their colleagues in the buzzing excitement.

For once, everyone was happy with the find. Biology and Chemistry were gushing over the molecular remains, Engineering was drooling over the six –no seven, no six – stage deployment system, Anthropology was knee deep in discussions over the implications for Ancient morality, and Earth Sciences was practically orgasmic about having something within their field to work on. The Physics department got their hands on the unique power source that fueled the whole terraforming plant. After a day of cataloguing and directing the extraction of anything interesting – which was everything – Rodney shoed everyone else who wasn’t Zelenka away from the power source to the schematics that were in the process of being developed.

The power source – which still didn’t have a name – was contained in a five by twenty by two foot steel-like container that had just barely fit in the jumper. It had a dozen pipe leads which had been meticulously disconnected from the various parts of the actual system and appeared to be an injector fuel system, though no one knew what the fuel was. Rodney wanted to make sure that he got a look at the thing before it was dismantled and its guts laid bare. It was off the wall for the Ancients and after twenty minutes of arguing and pointing they finally decided that it was a meant to be selfsustaining which only brought up the question of why this and not a ZPM or other form of energy. This brought them back to the bottom line of a long term terraforming project and barging into Chemistry to ask a few questions about sustainability.

The Marines on patrol just shook their heads when they walked through the labs four hours later, unnoticed.

* * *

John ended his first awake day in Atlantis with a shower. He’d had a brief one already, but in his very own room he stood in the spray for a full arn, just letting it soak in. Dirt was so deeply imbedded in his skin that he was sure he’d need that long to get clean.

Hot water. Endless hot water.

_Quiet._

He almost felt human again.

* * *

“Mr. Crichton, thank you for coming.” Elizabeth rose as the former Runner stepped into her office, his Marine escort stopping just outside the door. A shower and a good night’s sleep had done the man wonders since she’d seen him last just after his surgery. “I’m Dr. Weir.” She held out her hand which he took.

“Doctor.” He sat when she indicated the guest chair and resumed her own seat. His eyes skidded around her office, hitting decorations and flickering to the activity in the gate room below, before finally coming to rest on her. “I guess I have you to thank for getting that thing out of my back, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Elizabeth smiled, not having expected his gratitude. “We try to help where we can against the Wraith.”

“So I hear.”

“You’ve heard of us?” Elizabeth arched an eyebrow in surprise.

“You’re the Lanteans, right,” Crichton smiled. “Word gets around.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Oh, you know. You rob a bank, everyone thinks you raped a village. Unless you actually did, but, somehow,” he drawled the word out, “I don’t think that’s the case.”

Elizabeth almost asked why, but then decided that it would take this conversation places she didn’t want it to go. “I admit things don’t always turn out the way we would like, but that seems to be life in the Pegasus galaxy,” she said wryly instead.

“Or anywhere.”

She acknowledged the point by inclining her head. “I hope your stay here has been comfortable. I know the guards are less than ideal, but I’m sure you can understand the precaution.”

Crichton chuffed a laugh, “I get it.”

“Good,” Elizabeth said. “Because I take any threat to my people seriously.” She made sure she held his eye until he looked away and back.

“I get it,” he repeated, the humor gone from his eyes.

“I hope so.”

“You know you could just put me in a cell. Save yourself the worry.”

“I prefer to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Cautiously.” Crichton’s lips twitched into a smile to which Elizabeth couldn’t help but purse her lips in return. She sat back in her chair a little more relaxed. She knew it was probably too early to trust him, but she did find herself liking him. He had an air of comfortable masculinity that reminded her a bit of Ronon with the charisma to rival John’s without the prickliness.

“I asked you here to discuss your future,” said Elizabeth. “I understand you don’t know exactly how you arrived in our universe, and given the length of time it’s been, our scientists don’t know if we can help you get back. Honestly, I don’t know if we have the resources to try.” Elizabeth hated saying it, but they were stretched as it was, and with the discovery of the terraforming station, it would be a half hearted effort at this point. Crichton didn’t react, as if he expected as much. “We are willing and able to help you settle in this galaxy. We have helped refugees before find new places to live.”

“Like Ronon.”

Unsure she wanted him to get the idea that he could stay on Atlantis, Elizabeth nonetheless knew that anything less would be cruel to an American astronaut. “Like Ronon. We asked him to stay. That said, we are not kicking you to the curb right away. Dr. Beckett would like to ensure that you have recovered from your time as a Runner which will also give you time to think about what you want to do. Also, I would like to offer what I can to make your transition back to civilization as painless as possible. We have a psychiatrist on base if you would like to talk to her.”

“A shrink?” Crichton shifted and then surprised her. “Yeah. Yeah, that might be nice.” Her shock must have showed because he added, “What? I know I’m crazy. Seriously.”

Elizabeth schooled her features, her mind going back to abnormal brain patterns. “I’ll let Dr. Heightmeyer know.”

“Cool. And can I get a pen and some paper? And music? I’d kill for the _1812 Overture._” He smiled to show that he didn’t mean that literally.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Elizabeth stood to signal the end of the meeting, Crichton following her lead. “We’ll speak again soon,” she offered her hand, which he again shook firmly.

“Peace.” His blue eyes caught hers in all seriousness, and she knew deep inside that he meant it.

* * *

_Why are you so eager to talk to someone else about your “feelings”? You can talk to me._

“I always talk to you.”

_So now there’s people around and I’m back to being a second rate psychosis?_

“Look, I’m stuck with you. And yes, you’ve probably kept me sane – ”

_You would be nothing without me, a gibbering baboon_.

“But! I have a chance to talk to someone not you about this whole frelled up experience! You bet I’m taking it.”

_I will play DK’s scratched Nirvana album the whole time._

“You do that and I’ll pound you into an Iron Maiden and glue the door shut.”

* * *

The mess hall was crowded when John entered for dinner. He gave the room a once over as he headed for the line and saw that it was sharply divided between scientists and military. No surprise with the station they discovered, and no surprise that Rodney was no where to be found. He did see Elizabeth in the corner table she took when she was working through meals and decided to join her to make sure she was actually eating.

“Good book?” he asked as he set his tray down.

Elizabeth looked up, startled. “Reports on the terraforming plant,” she said. “Absolutely fascinating.”

“I’ll wait till the movie comes out.” John eyed the scrollbar on her tablet suspiciously making Elizabeth chuckle.

“Really John, aren’t you just the least bit interested in how they transformed a planet from desolation into a place fit for human habitation? The implications for their perceived role in the universe?”

“They came, they played God, they left. We see evidence for that everywhere.”

“It’s more than that.” Elizabeth had a look in her eye that John didn’t see much of anymore, a look of excitement and possibility.

“They left messes,” he said slowly. “That we fall into.”

Elizabeth blinked and folded her arms on the table. “What’s gotten you in a bad mood?”

John rolled his eyes. “Staff meetings and paperwork.” Since the team was on stand down until Rodney could be pried away from the labs John didn’t have an excuse to not foist them off on Lorne. “How was your day?”

“I met with Crichton this morning,” said Elizabeth. “Gave him a heads up on thinking about what he wants to do once Carson clears him. He agreed to see Heightmeyer too. They met this afternoon.”

“Really?” That was a surprise. John wouldn’t have taken Crichton for the type to agree to seeing a shrink. Teyla had balked. Ronon had to be tricked into it. “What’d she have to say?”

“Patient confidentiality, John,” Elizabeth reminded him. “But she did say he was behaving better than expected for someone who has come out of prolonged isolation. No overt signs of mental disorders or anything like that. He apparently just wanted to talk about the last year.”

John mulled that over as he dug into his vegetables. He could taste the freezer burn. “Nothing weird?”

“Weird? No, why?”

John shrugged. “Just something Ronon said last night, that Crichton sometimes said ‘we’ instead of ‘I’ and made comments that made no sense. Ronon wasn’t too specific, just that he had a feeling Crichton was off in the head a little.”

“Does he think he’s dangerous?”

“He thinks he’s a little crazy ‘cause he doesn’t hate the Wraith.” Which John also felt was a little more worrisome than spouting nonsense. The guy had been alone for a year, talking to himself was only to be expected. Not hating the Wraith could spell all kinds of trouble.

“He give any reason why?” asked Elizabeth.

“Ronon didn’t say.”

“Hmm.” She picked at her salad and they ate in silence for a moment.

The thing that bugged John about the whole thing was the Crichton didn’t strike him as a Wraith worshipper type. The man had the whole lone cowboy attitude which meshed with his story of being an astronaut.

“He asked for paper and pen today, and music,” said Elizabeth. She poked at her salad again then stabbed a crouton. “He’s not Ronon.”

“No,” John agreed, thinking of two knives, an empty alien pistol, and a piece of cloth with three symbols written in blood. Crichton was his age, maybe older, and he laughed and he talked to shrinks, and didn’t give a rat’s ass what people thought. “He’s not.” What to do about him hung in the air between them.

“Dr. Weir?” Rodney’s voice crackled over the command channel.

Elizabeth looked up alarmed as John felt the first prickles of disaster. “Yes, Rodney, what is it?”

“We might have a small problem.”

* * *

There was a mess inside of him that refused to be cleaned up. Sticky emotions of anger and frustration and regret and loss. And something like relief. He couldn’t remember all he said, just indistinct things about family and a future gone to hell and even if things were bad at least he had a place. John felt like he was in limbo and Atlantis was a dream. He was just waiting to wake up back to a world of running from the Wraith. Wake up back to Moya.

_You are awake. And this is your world._

* * *

The power source/injection system/Pandora’s box was the centerpiece of the mechanics lab. At Rodney’s orders a team was trying to put it back together to mitigate the damage done while he and Radek and half the biologists tried to get a handle on the sensor readings that were what had preceded a literally alarming response in the ventilation system.

“Rodney,” Elizabeth’s command voice broke over the bustle and for a moment it subsided as everyone looked up. “Talk to me.”

Rodney turned as she and Sheppard crossed to him, the readings already burned in his brain. “Remember the power source I was talking about for the terraforming plant? Bio-diesel of some sort,” he continued before they could reply. “I have no idea why; we’re still working out the details. Or we were before the ventilation system went haywire.”

“Haywire?”

“It was localized, and the system compensated for it. It’s still compensating.”

“But that’s good, right?” asked Sheppard with his endless supply of optimism.

“Yes, that’s good,” Rodney repeated the obvious. “Except for the tiny fact that the saturation levels on the filters are rising _rapidly_, and there has been an alarming drop in oxygen next to the sensor.”

“Rodney,” Elizabeth’s voice held a mixture of following along and frustration.

“Right, right,” he waved off her questions. “Bottom line. The microbes that provided the gas to fuel the cell were dormant. When we opened it up, poof, into the air gumming up the works. It took all day of course before we even noticed anything, and then the readings were so low no one noticed till one of the filters clogged – that was the alarm – and then we noticed the oxygen readings.”

“So what are we looking at here?” asked Sheppard. “We have a whole atmosphere full of oxygen.”

“At the current rate of consumption, yes,” put in Radek, joining them with Dr. Hensley, Biology’s subhead, just behind him.

“Unfortunately, in the last day we’ve noticed an exponential growth of the microbes in the chamber,” Dr. Hensley gestured at the fuel cell. “They lay dormant in spores until activated by the light. And we think they’ve mutated.”

“Which means?” Elizabeth looked from Dr. Hensley to Rodney who rolled his eyes at the ominous statements of conjecture.

“Which means that the microbes that probably once produce oxygen given that we’re dealing with a terraforming station, now consume it,” Rodney said. “Immaterial really, but they’re reproducing rapidly and this is at minimum ten thousand year old terraforming equipment we’re dealing with here. Who knows what’s contaminated the system. In any case, the problem isn’t so much the decrease in oxygen, it’s the contaminated filters in the ventilation system. That gets clogged and even with the opening all the exterior doors and windows, we’ll have a serious problem. The good news is that we have time on our side.”

“We think,” added Radek, the doomsayer as always.

“So, we’re not in any immediate danger,” Sheppard asked.

“Well, I’m not going to jinx us by saying ‘no’ because then we’ll have all sorts of crazy snot mutating everywhere.” Bad enough they were dealing with more biological problems.

“All right,” Elizabeth nodded. She looked at Sheppard and let out a breath. “Keep us apprised.”

Rodney waved them out and turned back to his headache. He hated biology with a fiery passion and this was just one more strike against it.

* * *

Shh.

_But –_

Shh. Listen.

_I – _

“Harvey! One word . . .”

It was dark and the blankets were warm like being curled up on a cold winter’s day in front of the fire. John ignored the sulking in the back of his head and it faded into nothingness while they listened. Crap speakers that sounded like a concert hall as the orchestra played outside his head for the first time in years.

* * *

 

 

### Shape

It was just past dawn when Ronon stopped by Crichton’s room before his morning run. The former Runner had practically locked himself in after he’d met with Heightmeyer yesterday and the word from the Marines guarding him wasn’t encouraging. Crichton was a stranger in a strange place and with all the problems recent guests had caused, no one was eager to make friends. Ronon figured the man needed a chance.

He nodded to the sergeants on duty and knocked on the door. It took a moment, but Crichton answered dressed still in his worn shirt and leather pants. He was barefoot and clearly hadn’t slept. Instrumental music played loudly in the background, but most striking was the paper that was everywhere. The desk, the table, the bed the floor, all with a single trail leading from spiral to line in an equally complicated layout.

“Ronon!” Crichton blinked. “What’s up? Geez, what time is it?”

“Morning. I was wondering if you wanted to go for a run?” Ronon thought not, but it couldn’t hurt to ask anyway.

“A run?” Crichton said, processing rather than insulting the idea. “I don’t think I’m in any shape to run,” he added. “But hey, you wanna get breakfast when you get back? I gotta finish some . . . top stuff.” His hand waved vaguely in the direction of the room behind him, and when he actually looked he seemed to notice the mess for the first time. “And organize.”

It made Ronon smile, reminding him a bit of McKay, so he nodded and said, “I’ll be back in half an hour.”

“Cool.” Crichton turned back to him. “I’ll try to not look like something the cat dragged in.”

He’d showered and shaved by the time Ronon had done the same and returned to his room. The paper was still in evidence, just with another trail leading to the bathroom. “So what is all that?” Ronon asked as they started down the corridor to the mess, the Marines trailing them.

“Just some stuff that’s been floating around in my head,” said Crichton. “Might help me get home.”

Ronon gave him a sideways glance wondering if anyone had told him that it would be next to impossible to get him back to wherever he’d come from. If they had, it might not have made a difference. You didn’t survive as a Runner by giving up. “It looked complicated.”

Crichton shrugged. “Did you have a good run?”

It was Ronon’s turn to shrug. It hadn’t been anything extraordinary. He and Sheppard had taken a shorter route through the West Pier which they didn’t normally do because it was away form the sunrise. “You should come with us tomorrow.”

“I just quit running for my life, thank you,” Crichton shook his head as he said it, and Ronon knocked him in the shoulder for it.

At Crichton’s startled “hey!” and side step, he said, “You’re getting soft.”

“I’m getting bruises.” Crichton rubbed his arm which only made Ronon grin. He couldn’t say why, but being around Crichton felt like being home on Sateda with his squad. Shared experience maybe, or the way Crichton seemed to be looking right through him to someone he once knew. Sheppard did that too sometimes, but he was in command and there was always an edge of friendly competition that was missing with Crichton who would probably lose to Ronon in a fight and not care about it.

When they reached the mess hall it was still early. Sheppard wasn’t in yet, but that wasn’t unusual as he always met with Lorne in the mornings for breakfast a little later. It was mostly a smattering of the early bird scientists – and those who hadn’t yet gone to sleep – and Marines. Teyla was also at their usual table near the back with a mug of tea so Ronon nudged Crichton in her direction once the other man had gotten a bit of everything available, all carefully arranged on two plates.

“Everyone’s watching me,” he said as they walked over.

Ronon cast a look about, scattering the gazes of the scientists and getting polite nods but no fewer stares from the Marines. A few were talking, too indistinct to hear and probably harmless but he knew how Crichton saw it. “Ignore them.”

“What, you’re my mother now?”

“You won’t fight them.”

Crichton gave him a look that doubted his intelligence. “They’re Marines. Even I don’t have that much of a death wish.”

“Good morning,” Teyla greeted the pair.

“Teyla.” Ronon smiled as he set down his tray.

“Teyla Emmagen of the Athosians,” Crichton said as he sat down. “How are you?”

“I am well. And you? How has your stay been on Atlantis?”

“Well,” Crichton spoke with his mouth full and hooked a thumb at Ronon. “Between him lugging me around, Weir threatening me, and the shrink tearing my guts up, not bad actually. Lot of people here, but no one actively trying to kill me. They treat you guys ok?”

“Yes,” Teyla smiled at the question. “We are part of the team, as the Colonel would say.”

“Weir threatened you?” asked Ronon surprised. She didn’t usually do that right away.

“Sort of. She doesn’t trust me not to go psycho and kill everyone,” Crichton replied with his face so straight Ronon had to double check to make sure he wasn’t serious.

“You must understand that we have had . . . difficulties with visitors recently.” Teyla clasped her mug between her hands.

“No, I get it. Had my share of guests who outstayed their welcome,” Crichton waved the biscuit in his hand. “Shouldn’t have been expecting to stay here long anyway.”

“Wait, you’re not staying?” That couldn’t be right, Ronon looked from Crichton to Teyla who was just as concerned at that news as he was.

Crichton’s head tilted to the side as if to let them in on a secret. “Apparently Atlantis is invitation only. And mine got taken out of my back. I get to pick a planet to go to once Beckett’s done with me. He’s not doing anything weird is he?”

Teyla smiled. “He will do nothing to harm you.”

“He thinks you have weird brain patterns,” added Ronon which stopped Crichton short.

“What?” he demanded slowly.

“Said the patterns were off.” Ronon watched as the other man let his fork drop and his whole body still, surprised Beckett hadn’t talked about it with him.

“He did a brain scan of me? What else did he do?”

“It is part of the quarantine protocol,” Teyla stepped in with her best reassuring voice. “The Ancient technology is noninvasive; we all go through the process when we return from off world.”

“Except no one bothered to tell me,” Crichton snapped.

“I’m sure you would have been informed when Carson had more to tell you,” said Teyla. “You are scheduled to meet with him today, are you not?”

“Yeah.” Crichton sighed and shook his head. He ran his hand through his hair and reigned himself in. “Another meeting.”

Ronon looked over at Teyla, wondering if he should have told him despite the fact that it was his head under discussion. Couldn’t be undone at this point now, and Crichton seemed to take it in stride. Teyla however had the look of a cause on her face and Ronon knew this would be brought up at _their_ next meeting.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Crichton kept casting looks at curious faces that occasionally turned their way, edgy and uncomfortable as his eyes flickered looking for threats. There was nothing to be done about them either except hide away, which was really no solution at all.

“So Teyla,” Crichton broke the conversational silence. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. What kind of place have your people got set up on the Mainland?”

“A hunting village that has turned into a more permanent settlement now that we do not have to move regularly,” answered Teyla. “My people are hunters and traders. We farm a little now that we are more settled, but we have our own gate team that continues trade with our long allies.”

“Got any recommendations for ex-Runners?”

“Crichton,” Ronon broke in. “It took Sheppard a week to convince Weir to let me stay. She’s responsible for the whole city; she has to be sure. Just give us a little time.”

The offer surprised Crichton and he half laughed and was going to say something, but stopped when he saw the look in Ronon’s eye. Ronon wasn’t sure what he saw, but he knew that he meant it when he said, “I don’t know about staying, but thanks.”

* * *

He felt eyes on him. He heard whispers. There were people around every corner, working, walking, waiting. Not just a couple people, a couple hundred. Wary. He’d been alone for so long that he’d forgotten what if felt like. Forgotten what people felt like. Forgotten what humans felt like, how they thought. It shouldn’t have been as strange as it was.

_We haven’t spoken to anyone in months._

John talked to himself, talked to Harvey. Numbers and spirals talked to him and he was finally able to understand what they said. It didn’t stop the mutters or the eyes.

_Stranger in a stranger land._

Only I’m from way beyond Mars.

* * *

“No. Johnson’s team tried that,” Radek interrupted Rodney’s suggestion of reversing the airflow. “Failsafes again and the added problem of more contamination.”

“Only if it’s not controlled properly. We modulate – ”

“No, no, no. This is air we are talking about. Fluid mechanics! Is not simple equation!”

“I know what fluid mechanics is, thank you very much,” Rodney snapped back. “And with the atmospheric controls we may be able to – ”

“No.” Radek cut his hand across Rodney’s words. “It will never work. The microbes are too light and small.”

Rodney knew he was right, but was unwilling to concede the point. He knew it was partly the hunger speaking as they carried the argument from the labs to the mess hall for food and desperately needed hot coffee, but it was no less frustrating. The entire day they’d spent working on solutions to their microbe problem, which surprise, surprise, was getting worse. Activating-other-microbes-that-had-been-b

 

rought-back-worse, and these bugs did things like corrode metal and emit acid fumes. The irony that their original function was most likely to do the opposite was lost on no one.

Radek threw out an idea for dousing the microbes in water that Rodney shot down while they cut in line for dinner. Rodney threw out an idea for using static electricity to bind them that Radek shot down while they settled in at a table. So deep were they in the rationalization of opinion that they both jumped when a third person landed in the seat next to Rodney. Crichton.

“McKay, right?”

“Excuse me?” Rodney blinked, still wondering where the hell he’d come from.

“Your name, right?”

“Yes. What do you want? Never mind. Go away, I’m busy.” Rodney waved his hand in the general direction of someplace else that did nothing to make the former Runner leave.

“I just have a question,” he said, thumping a stack of papers half an inch thick on the table. “Ronon said you could help.”

“Yes probably, if I wasn’t, I don’t know, saving the city?” Rodney glared at Crichton who, of course, ignored him and instead went ahead and asked his question. It took a moment for Rodney’s brain to catch up and realize he was talking nine dimensions and particle subspace. “Wait,” Rodney snatched the piece of paper – paper! Ha! – out of the man’s hands and looked at the . . . gibberish that was written there. “What is this crap?”

“Wormholes,” Crichton cut him a look that clearly was revising his opinion of Rodney’s usefulness.

“Yes, well that doesn’t help if I can’t read it.” Rodney was curious in spite of himself. He could see patterns in the arabesque script but it was like looking at Ancient before he’d learned it.

Crichton took the piece of paper back and wrote a translation into human Arabic symbols of two of the lines. In this form they turned into something familiar, yet, “This is wrong.” Rodney pointed to the first equation. He snatched the pen out of Crichton’s hand and fixed it. “The time differential should only have two terms.”

Crichton snatched the pen back and said, “This is right and not what I was asking about.”

“Where did you get this? A Cracker Jack box? And you were asking about nine dimensions and particle subspace.” Rodney then went on to detail why the two were incompatible – five max for working with wormholes – and why whatever Crichton had found was wrong and inconsistent with even expanded Ancient version of physics, overriding and ignoring Crichton’s attempt to argue. Crichton finally just stopped trying and propped his head on his hand face blank and unreadable even as his eyes flickered intently back and forth across Rodney’s face. Somewhere during all this, Radek took a look at the stack of papers and rolled his eyes. “Seriously, where did you get it? And better yet, why did you take it? It’s trash, utter putrefying garbage and some poor sap’s idea of science. And how can you even read this, I thought you were from an alternate Earth – oh, oh,” Rodney glared as the penny dropped. “Ha ha, very funny. Did Sheppard put you up to this?”

Realizing that he was actually expected to answer, Crichton shook himself out of his stupor. “So that’s how the circle thing works,” he said.

“Yes,” Rodney did not appreciate the sarcasm. “That’s how the _stargate_ works.” He was so going to get Sheppard for this. “I’m glad your two brain cells were able to rub that together.”

Crichton looked annoyed but asked, “So what if the wormhole wasn’t constrained by the circle thing? How would that affect the particle stability?”

Which was an utterly ridiculous and moronic question. “All right, fun’s over,” Rodney snapped. “I actually have real things to do and problems to solve so go back to bashing your head against the wall with Ronon.”

“Just answer the question,” Crichton bit out slowly, getting frustrated.

“It’s a stupid question with no basis in reality and you couldn’t possibly understand an answer if there was one and it came up and bit you.”

“You know what? I don’t need this.” Crichton abruptly stood and snatched back his papers. “I get enough insults from Harvey.”

“Good. Go before I call your guards to drag you away.” Rodney waved him off, not bothering to watch him slither away with his tail between his legs, which was why he had a heart attack when Crichton’s hand slammed down next to his tray.

“And I have had it,” the crazy Runner shouted, “with all the damn threats!” He pushed off a step angrily. Every eye in the mess hall on him, wide eyed and surprised. Rodney felt his heart beating twenty times to fast. His Marine guards leveled their weapons at him, and by the window Ronon had stood up and started slowly over.

“Sir, please calm down,” said one of the grunts.

“Calm,” Crichton put his hands on his hips and tilted his head in a false sense of casual. The Marines approached slowly. Crichton half laughed and put his face in his hands. Rodney couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying. He let out a sigh of relief when the Marines reached him, only it turned out to be premature when Crichton spun and kicked one in the nuts and punched the other in between the eyes with the flat of his hand so hard he crumpled to the floor. He kicked their weapons out of their hands and a chair at Ronon who had come up behind him but hadn’t yet attacked.

“Crichton, stop,” he rumbled softly.

“No! He wanted to make a frelling scene,” Crichton’s finger pointed behind him at Rodney, “I’ll give him one. I’m too stupid to know better after all. So don’t you tell me to calm down, Ronon. I am fucking pissed off. Yes, the crazy man has lost his cool!” he shouted to the room at large. He kicked another chair into a table and sneezed. “And would you people stop opening the circle thing!”

A moment later Elizabeth’s voice called over the command channel for a medical team to the gate room. Still stuck on the temper tantrum Crichton was holding in the middle of the room it took a minute for that to sink in. The room was awash in stunned silence.

Crichton’s hands were back on his head his eyes were closed and he was breathing quickly. “I really shouldn’t be around people right now,” he said to Ronon who nodded and got close enough to lead the way out of the mess hall just as a squad of Marines came in guns blazing.

Ronon told the lieutenant, “I’ve got him,” as Crichton glared fearlessly at the weapons aimed at him. Then they were gone.

Rodney let out an explosive breath and recognized the Czech Radek was speaking as curse words. “Was it just me, or did we just come this close to getting the shit beat out of us?”

“Perhaps this is a lesson for you to be nicer to people,” said Radek. “Especially Runners who can knock out two Marines and write wormhole physics that confuses you.”

“Oh, you can’t possibly think he was serious about that.” Rodney still wasn’t sure what to make of it, but there was no way that whatever nonsense he’d written or copied –

“Rodney, did that look like a man wanting to play a joke on you?” Radek pointed to the Marines getting helped to their feet.

Frowning, Rodney had to admit that, no, it hadn’t.

* * *

John stared at the ocean for hours. He’d yelled at Ronon for hours earlier. He’d yelled at Harvey too. Now it was him and the ocean, standing on the tip of a pier with nothing but sky and water before him. As desolate, and beautiful, as space.

He knew there were guards somewhere nearby. He thought about jumping off, wondered if they’d save him from the waves. He thought about friends who would, the woman who loved him even as she ran away. His anger had left him as hollow as the view.

Damn these people to hell.

* * *

“Medical team to lab four! And wear hazmat suits!” shouted across the radios interrupted the impromptu meeting in Elizabeth’s office cutting Ronon off mid argument. Elizabeth didn’t bother asking for a report the scientists would be too busy to tell her and instead strode out to the transporter. Behind her, she heard John issue orders for the halls to be cleared between the labs and infirmary. It was a dubious sign that Atlantis’s quarantine protocols hadn’t been initiated.

Radio traffic increased as Carson started asking questions and disturbing reports of acid fume inhalation came back from the labs. They were just coming in as Elizabeth arrived at the infirmary. Five people were on gurneys, oxygen masks firmly set over nose and mouth, and half the scientists working on the microbe problem were either walking wounded or helping behind them. Rodney and Hensley brought up the rear, neither looking the worse for the crisis as they joined Elizabeth and John outside the infirmary doors.

“What happened?”

“You know how some of the microbes started producing strong acids as opposed to consuming them? Well, they got into a water pipe,” Rodney said as the sound of water spraying started up from beyond the infirmary doors.

“We don’t know when or how,” Hensely sighed. “At the rate they’ve been replicating it’s hard to tell, but they corroded the pipes in lab four.”

“The pipes burst, acid everywhere,” Rodney finished. “Only the first five were in there. The rest got hit by the fumes when they came to help.”

“How bad was it?” asked John.

“Bad,” said Hensley. “I don’t know how were going to clean it up. We need neutralizers that we don’t have. The procedures for this kind of cleanup are nothing we anticipated.”

“What’s the likelihood of this happening again?”

“High?” Rodney reluctantly admitted. “I’ll see if the geologists have any ideas for the minerals we need. As it is, the lab’s lost and the ventilation system’s toast. No one goes in there without a hazmat suit.”

Elizabeth sighed heavily, not wanting to ask her next question. “Any progress on resolving this?”

Rodney’s down-turned mouth tightened. “No.” He looked over at John and Ronon and back. “We’re still working on it. Which I should be getting back to.”

“I want all the labs cleared of all non-essential personnel. If they can work elsewhere, that’s where I want them to be. I also need a threat assessment to the rest of Atlantis.”

“I’ve got people working on it already,” said Hensley with a look at Rodney.

“Keep me posted.” Rodney and Hensley both nodded and spun off, Rodney already issuing orders of his own. “Control,” Elizabeth hit her radio. “Get me a head and location count and announce that the labs are off limits to personnel not cleared by Dr. McKay or Dr. Hensley due to contamination.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ronon, find me Crichton.”

“He didn’t do this.”

“I know, but I want to know where he is, just in case.” Ronon gave her a long look, but didn’t argue further. “Let’s get the situation resolved with him before we go around restricting everyone’s movements.”

With Ronon off and John calling in two more patrols, Elizabeth turned to the infirmary and her injured people.

* * *

Hustle and bustle and people in organized chaos. For once John didn’t think it was his fault. Imagine that. Other people screwed up too. It was slightly comforting.

_They are human._

“Which means they’ll find a way to sort this out.”

_Like you are?_

The top was spinning spinning, always spinning. “Yes.”

* * *

“Dr. Weir.” Elizabeth tore her eyes from her laptop where status reports were coming in rapidly. Crichton had just arrived and was standing with his arms wrapped around his chest. His hair was damp and ruffled and he brought the smell of the sea with him from the pier.

“Mr. Crichton, thank you for coming,” Elizabeth gestured to the seat across from her. It was almost as if two days hadn’t passed since their last meeting and yet it felt so long ago already. “I’m sure you saw on your way in that were in the middle of a crisis here, so I wanted to clear things up with you before we’re swamped in even more problems.”

“This is about the thing in the cafeteria?” asked Crichton, wincing. “I’m sorry about that.”

“What you did was assault, Mr. Crichton,” said Elizabeth crisply. “If you were one of my people, you’d be cooling your heels it the brig for a week. As a stranger here your position is much more precarious.” Crichton scratched his head unsurprised.

“So what are you going to do about it?” he asked. “I’m already under guard.”

“And you knocked out the guards that were on your detail.” Elizabeth took a deep breath, hoping this was the right answer. “I can see that this whole situation has been stressful for you. Ronon’s been defending your position,” Elizabeth told him. “I also spoke with Dr. Heightmeyer for her professional opinion. They both agree that you do not pose a serious threat to Atlantis, and Ronon insists that short of shooting you there’s not much we can do to control you.”

“Well –”

“Now,” Elizabeth interrupted. She didn’t have time to argue. “I understand that you were speaking with Dr. McKay just before your outburst and that he was insulting, derogatory, and rude.”

Crichton’s lips twitched into a clenched jaw. “Ronon told me that was a permanent fixture of his personality.

“Yes, well, he grows on you,” Elizabeth agreed.

“Like fungus?”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at his choice of words and got a hard stare in return. “So I take it you’re not shooting me?”

“No,” said Elizabeth. “I’m not even going to throw you in the brig. I am going to ask you for your promise that this will not happen again, and then I’m going to trust you to keep it.”

Crichton blinked a few times as a smile tried to break free. Disbelief was written in every fidget. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Elizabeth began, but was cut off by commotion on the causeway.

“Dr. Weir,” Rodney stormed into her office with Drs. Gibbs and Lucien from Chemistry mulishly following. “Tell these knuckleheads that destroying their experiments will be the least of their problems if they do not give me the compounds I need to neutralize the acid and poison the Spores from Hell.”

“He is asking for all of our supplies,” Dr. Gibbs protested. “All our work from the past months will be lost! We cannot just throw it all away. There must be something else we can try.”

“Oh, and what have I been doing for the last three days,” demanded Rodney, throwing up his hands. “If you hadn’t notice we have a lab flooded by acid and more microbes reproducing like bunnies producing more acid fumes.”

“Our supplies would not put a dent in it,” said Dr. Lucien. “It is pointless to waste our work.”

“You have an acid flood?” Crichton’s incredulous tones broke into the argument.

Rodney turned and noticed him for the first time. “Yes. And what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in shackles?”

“Rodney,” Elizabeth said warningly.

“Right, fine. The point is, I need every neutralizer they have, and anything that might remotely have a chance at killing these things. I do not care if this means they have to twiddle their thumbs until they get resupplied.”

“But our work!”

“Doctors,” said Elizabeth sharply. “I’m afraid you’re not going to win this one. I need you to turn over whatever Dr. McKay needs.” The grief was apparent on their faces. They were relatively new to Atlantis and hadn’t been directly exposed to the dangers living here could present, but one science experiment was the least of her worries at the moment. They left after a few more protests and a promise of written complaints.

“The things I must put up with,” said Rodney as he appropriated Elizabeth’s coffee. Under the circumstances, Elizabeth let him get away with it, keeping an eye on their guest, just in case, but Crichton simply rubbed a hand over his face, apparently not taking the details of the current crisis very well.

“You know it’s too bad this isn’t a ship and you can’t just space the microbes,” he said letting his hand drop heavily to his lap. “Or burn them. They’re not sentient are they? ‘Cause it sucks when they are.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at that comment, but Rodney beat her to the questions. “That’s . . . not impossible.” His tone changed mid sentence from scorn to break-through.

“Rodney?”

“I just had an idea,” he said, and before Elizabeth could ask what, he was out the door and yelling over his shoulder, “I’ll be back when I know it works,” leaving Elizabeth and Crichton staring at each other in bewilderment.

“I hope the Shroom’s plans are better than mine,” Crichton finally said. Elizabeth couldn’t help the smile, or the small sense of relief in knowing that Rodney had a plan. But even as she wondered what part of Crichton’s comment had set of the spark of inspiration, she couldn’t help but be curious. He was from an alternate Earth, or claimed to be, but those tired eyes spoke of more than Earth, hidden beneath the surface.

* * *

“Does this whole trust thing strike you as odd?”

_No._

“Are you saying that to make me feel better or to lure me into a false sense of security?”

_Don’t be ridiculous, John. Your kind has an odd sense of trust and a love of denial, so, no, I am not surprised that you are being trusted to mind your manners. This was a skill you acquired in kindergarten, was it not? Don’t judge a book by its cover, treat others as you would like others to treat you, share the milk and cookies._

“Shut up.”

_You’re the one who aided and abetted the escape of fugitives on your first day._

“That was different.”

_How?_

“I was in trouble and naïve and they were my best bet. One that paid off.” Harvey didn’t answer. John didn’t need him too.

* * *

Rodney’s idea required tricking Atlantis into thinking the city was in space. John didn’t follow all the details. There was something about nonactivated protocols for when the stardrive was offline that could handle fires and isolation when ventilation shut off. All John remembered was sitting in the chair for days thinking about vacuum and microbes with Rodney yelling in his ear every time his concentration wavered – that had about put John in need of a hearing aid.

In the end, it was rather anticlimactic. There were no more explosions or acid bombings, just ten hours of the rewired ventilation system pumping all the air out of the lab section of the city into an air lock that they didn’t even know was there where a complicated filter system was jury rigged to separate the microbes from the atmosphere. The whole thing had taken almost a week to set up and carry out, and while not working perfectly or without two computer crashes and a busted set of pipes, it did work. The rest was just clean up.

Peering through the airlock door at six inches worth of vacuum sealed microbes, finer than mud, John had no idea what they were going to do next. Beside him Rodney huffed out a little breath of satisfaction.

“You know, we could just leave them here,” John suggested.

“And wait for them to attack again?” Rodney retorted. “We’ll leave them tonight and burn them first thing in the morning. If they weren’t toxic, I’d bring marshmallows.”

“Rodney,” John tilted his head at the window. “It’s a vacuum.”

“Which is why we are going to pump O2 in slowly first,” Rodney said carefully with that look that said why-do-you-bother-opening-your-mouth.

“Burning.” The idea did have an appeal. “Good idea.”

“Hmm, yes. Crichton’s actually.”

John turned in surprise. “What?”

“Both parts. The inspiration, I mean. I came up with all the details of course. Well, Radek helped. And a few of the biologists and chemists.” He waved a hand at the giant array of filters.

John smirked at the almost admission of credit with what had been a monumental effort by the whole science department. Geology had even found limestone deposits on the southern coast of the mainland so they could clean up the acid spills.

“Is Crichton staying?”

“What? Oh. I don’t know,” John pulled himself back to the present. “We haven’t offered him a place here, if that’s what you’re asking. Ronon and Teyla made a case for him, before all this. We’re still thinking about it.” Since John had been monopolized for his gene he hadn’t had a chance to really talk to Crichton or Elizabeth about it yet. “Why?”

“I’ve just been thinking about this crazy question he asked about nine dimensional wormholes. Impossible of course given our current theory, but there was something there – ” Rodney lifted his chin a bit “ – that might be worth looking into. May even help get him where he belongs.”

“Rodney,” John couldn’t help but tease. “Are you trying to steal the man’s ideas?”

The scientists rolled his eyes. “He probably copied them off a wall somewhere. I thought it was a joke at first, but after he kicked your sergeant in the balls I’m less inclined to think he even cared about playing practical jokes.”

“So now you want to pick his brain?”

“I want him to translate the papers it’s all written down on.”

“What papers?”

“The ones he brought from wherever he found the data.”

John didn’t remember any papers in the Runner’s possession when they’d searched his things. In fact, hadn’t Crichton _asked_ for paper from Elizabeth? “Rodney, he didn’t bring any papers with him. He must have written that stuff here.”

Rodney’s jaw opened a bit. “But that’s . . .” He straightened abruptly with a look on his face of a man with a mission that John loved to see in a crisis but hated at any other time. “If he wrote that himself maybe we should ask him to stay.”

“What?” asked John, not sure where this was going. They could already make wormholes after all.

“Think about it. He wrote potentially groundbreaking work on wormholes, except he did so in an alien writing. He said, ‘if we were on a ship’ when he talked about spacing the microbes, and he implied that he’d met sentient microbes before. He’s been very comfortable with this whole alternate universe thing and added to the fact that he hasn’t even tried to kill anyone except for the sergeant’s future children, I’d say that makes him a little valuable to us. If he was off Earth before becoming a Runner he might have a wealth of information that could help us.” Rodney ticked off each point as he made them.

John nodded once, then stopped. Off of Earth? “When did you have time to think about this?” John wondered aloud.

“I thought the nine dimensional wormhole thing was a joke and was trying to figure out how he came up with it,” said Rodney. “But there were a couple things nagging me about it.”

“So that made you think harder about it and – ”

“Come to the conclusion that it’s possible outside of a stargate system.” Rodney finished. “You know what’s crazier?”

“That the Marines say Crichton talks to a voice in his head named Harvey?” John asked, managing to derail Rodney’s train of thought.

“You mean he really is psychotic? Great, that’s just great.”

John shrugged at his friend’s comic disgust. “Wouldn’t you be?”

“Ronon isn’t. Much,” he amended at John’s raised eyebrow. “Anyway, what were we talking about?”

“The crazy part of all this.”

“Oh, yes. I think that’s how he arrived here.” John waited for clarification in the face of Rodney’s declaration. “Through a nine dimensional wormhole.”

“You mean without a stargate.”

“Yes.”

John thought about asking, but Rodney himself had admitted that he hadn’t thought it possible either before a few days ago. His brain probably wouldn’t wrap around it anyway. “So . . .”

“I think we should ask Crichton to stay.” Rodney’s chin came up defensively as if he were expecting John to say no. Which wasn’t an invalid assumption considering the fact that strangers these days made everyone nervous, but even he could see the benefits of a wormholes without stargates that could connect to other galaxies without a power output. And a guy who could come up with that probably was a good idea to have around anyway. Not antagonizing him by kicking him out was probably good thinking too.

“I’ll talk to Elizabeth about it in the morning,” said John.

“Good.” Rodney patted him on the shoulder. “I’m going to go collapse now.”

John smiled and joined Rodney for the walk back to the transporters.

* * *

John was hallucinating. For real. Not Harvey but home. Moya home. It was the not sleeping thing kicking his ass but at the moment he just wanted it to be real. His chest had gotten tight when Weir and the Shroom had asked him to stay, all self righteous and Hynerian, and missing Rygel meant he was in bad shape.

Back in his room he curled up forehead to the floor, the crinkle of paper all around him.

_Didn’t you want to stay?_

John didn’t answer. He missed the low rumble, the fierce hug, the calm voice, the gentle hum. The strong presence that let him know he wasn’t alone. Lost once more.

The silence born of the morning interruption brought crashing down what he’d been avoiding by working for days straight. Starting over.

* * *

Rodney found Crichton eating breakfast with Ronon and Teyla on his first day as a member of the Atlantis expedition. Both his teammates smiled warmly when he approached and took his usual chair. Crichton even mustered a polite nod and “good morning,” that so surprised Rodney, he stared until Ronon kicked him.

“Yes, good morning. Hi.” He forced a smile and Crichton grinned back.

“So I never thanked you yesterday,” said Crichton. “For getting Weir to let me stay.”

“Yes, well,” Rodney dropped his eyes to his tray. “You did give me an idea for the microbe problem,” he said quickly giving credit where credit was due. “And your ideas on wormholes might have some merit to them.”

Crichton’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth, dropping down with a clatter. “You’re kidding me.”

“What? I thought about it. I am capable of admitting I’m wrong.” Both Teyla and Ronon snorted. “I am.” When Crichton laughed that was just the icing on the cake to him being nice to the guy, which was pretty significant considering.

“Look, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I figured out what I was going to ask you,” said Crichton.

“Well, maybe I could help with the rest of it?” Rodney asked, cursing his voice for sounding so plaintive.

Crichton eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Why?” Rodney spluttered. “Because you’re talking about wormholes unconstrained by a stargate or power needs that can cross universes and galaxies. Do you have any idea how amazing that is?”

“I have an idea how much someone will torture me for it.”

This time it was Rodney who froze, along with his teammates who were just as shocked by that bald statement.

“Sorry if I’m a little twitchy about it,” said Crichton going back to his food.

Rodney didn’t know what to say to that so he looked at his teammates. Neither one of them said anything for a moment. “By the Wraith?” Ronon finally asked.

“No. This is back where I’m from.”

“Earth?” said Teyla incredulously.

A small smile crossed Crichton’s face. “No. After Earth.”

“After Earth?” asked Rodney but he thought he knew what that meant. The astronaut who’d met aliens before and probably learned some very interesting things in the process. “What does that mean?” he asked wanting to find out more.

“Shroom, I don’t even know you,” said Crichton. “I’m not sure I even like you. And even if I did, I still probably wouldn’t tell you because I don’t want to talk about it.”

Not tell him? Of all the stupid reasons – “ ‘Shroom’?” Rodney spluttered. “Did you just call me ‘Shroom’?”

“Apparently, you grow on people,” Crichton smiled with more teeth than kindness.

“Who said that?” asked Ronon, who of course was laughing, and Rodney saw the smile on Teyla’s face, the traitors.

“Weir when she was chewing me out.”

“Oh, she did, did she?”

“Rodney,” said Teyla soothingly. “You do grow on people.”

“Not like fungus!” Rodney denied, but they were still laughing at him.

“Calm down, McKay. We’re saying we like you,” Ronon grinned and nudged his elbow.

A little mollified, Rodney grumbled, “you have a funny way of showing it.”

“So what will you be doing here?” Ronon returned to Crichton who shrugged.

“My skills have yet to be assessed,” he said. “McKay here seems to think I’m smart.” He gave Rodney an odd half smile.

Rodney snorted. “You said you were an astronaut. They don’t just let anyone fly billion dollar space craft.”

“Commander Crichton at your service.”

“What’s your first name?” asked Ronon curiously.

“John.”

“John. That’s a great name.” Sheppard’s voice startled Rodney when he came up from behind. The Colonel thumped his tray down next to Teyla and gave everyone a hello grin before digging into his powdered eggs. “Military?”

“Civilian.”

“Which means scientist,” said Rodney, really interested now. That meant at minimum a Masters most likely a PhD and if the wormhole work was anything to go by, it was in physics. Which was good because he could always use someone else who understood Newton’s Laws and Relativity.

“Maybe I’m a school teacher.”

Rodney nearly choked on his toast and quickly revised his opinion of Crichton: he was a son of a bitch. The snickers from the peanut gallery didn’t help. “What did you teach, basket weaving?” he demanded sarcastically once his throat was clear.

“Manners,” said Crichton sitting back.

“I don’t have time for manners,” Rodney replied. “They are inefficient and filled with lies.” He snapped his fingers. “Your degree? Podunk College? Backwater University?”

“MIT.”

Okay. Rodney hadn’t expected that. “Physics?” he asked hopefully.

Crichton nodded. “Cosmic Sciences.”

“Ph.D?”

Crichton nodded.

“What was your thesis?”

“It was on the theoretical use of a planet’s atmosphere to achieve high speeds in space craft.” Crichton smiled fondly. “It works too.”

“How fast?” asked Sheppard, shifting forward in his seat eagerly, and Rodney rolled his eyes when Crichton grinned, pure flyboy.

“Really fast,” he said.

“Yes, wonderful. We have hyperdrives.” But Rodney’s sarcasm was wasted on them as Sheppard started talking about the puddle jumpers and their capabilities. A brand new pseudo scientist with really interesting ideas on wormholes and he had to be a pilot who could care less about furthering science. The torture thing was unfortunate, and having been on the business end of a knife, Rodney understood, he did, but you couldn’t live life in fear. You had to press on or the bad guys won.

“Rodney?”

“What?”

“He’s asking about the engines,” said Sheppard. “I know what they give me but not how they work.”

“Oh.” Crichton was watching him guardedly and repeated his question on power and efficiency. As Rodney answered, he thought maybe this wouldn’t turn out so badly after all. And if he proved too annoying, Rodney could always give him to Zelenka.

* * *

He still got funny looks. He still stopped conversations when he came into a room. He still wasn’t given the time of day. He still was crazy.

_You are not crazy._

I still talk to you.

_Hardly conclusive._

Why the sudden support?

Harvey didn’t answer and John didn’t fret about it. Instead he went back to his room, but breakfast had thrown his concentration off. He kept thinking about the pure amazement on McKay’s face when he’d talked about the possibilities, the joy on Sheppard’s when he’d described the puddle jumpers, Teyla and Ronon’s fond smiles. It really hit him then, in his gut, that he was back among humans.

* * *

Ronon found Crichton at the very top of the tallest tower on the East Pier. He’d set off a minor panic when he’d disappeared before dinner, and another when the sensors located him outside of the occupied city. There had been questions, doubts, but Ronon knew that Crichton just needed to get away for a bit before everything came crashing down on him, so he’d told Weir he’d handle it and set out on foot. It was a nice night for a walk anyway.

Coming to Atlantis had saved Ronon’s life in more ways than one, but deciding to stay had been the hardest decision he’d made since leaving Sateda. It was so very different from any place he had been, the people of Earth were so hopeful and uncowed. Ronon hadn’t known whether he could stand to work with them, live with them, fight with them, but in the end he couldn’t fathom settling down to scratch out a humble living in the dirt. He’d been tired, yes, but he’d found a sort of peace on Atlantis that he hadn’t been looking for. He hoped Crichton would find the same.

It was cold at the top of the tower. Evening had given way to darkness when he started the long walk that culminated in the endless stairs that opened directly onto the roof. Crichton lay on his back with the sky and a million stars above, barely moving when Ronon sat down beside him. He still wore the clothes he wore as a Runner, even though he’d been issued a uniform and was slated to start work tomorrow with the scientists. Small stuff, McKay had said, with plenty of time to work on whatever he wanted.

A flutter of paper caught in the breeze only this one wasn’t like all the others Ronon had seen in Crichton’s room, covered in alien math. On this one there were dots with names beside them, and it took a moment for Ronon to recognize them as the brightest stars in the sky. A few were loosely connected into constellations distinct from the ones of the Ancestors.

“Do you know where your homeworld is?” asked Crichton in not much more than a whisper.

“You can’t see it from here,” replied Ronon just as quietly, “but it’s beyond those three in a triangle there.” He pointed up and to the south toward home. “Earth is that way,” he added, swinging his arm to the east.

“Earth,” Crichton breathed the word. “I haven’t been on Earth in four years.”

Ronon dropped his eyes from the stars to look at the man beside him. “That’s a long time not to have a home.”

“No, I had one,” said Crichton. “She ran away. Then I ended up here.”

Ronon didn’t know whether he was surprised or not. Didn’t know what to say. He knew there was nothing he could say that would mean anything so instead he looked up at the stars. Eternal, past and present. Planets, people. Galaxies, universes. Wraith. Hope.

“What’s done cannot be undone,” said Crichton into the blackness. To the stars and the life he’d lost.

No, thought Ronon in silent agreement, but there was always a road ahead, another stargate to pass through, and no telling what was on the other side.

* * *

One star. It wasn’t in the sky. Not this sky, not visible.

But the top spun and the wheel turned and one day . . .maybe fate would smile on them.


End file.
